


The Flight of John Sheppard

by whimsicalwhims



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalwhims/pseuds/whimsicalwhims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Sheppard grows wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flight of John Sheppard

**Author's Note:**

> **Repost** from 2008.  
>  **Warnings:** Crack fic, with a side order of wings.  
>  **Archive Rights:** No. Please do not take this story and post it elsewhere.  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Stargate SG-1, Stargate Atlantis, or any of the characters and situations depicted on the shows. No profit is being made from this and no infringement is intended.

It starts, as these things tend to do, on a warm, sunny day. The slight breeze from the ocean carries with it the scent of anticipation. Something will happen today, and given the fact that this is Atlantis--the Atlantis of the Pegasus Galaxy--should be the reader’s first indication that this something will not be of the norm.

Colonel John Sheppard, formerly of Earth, formerly the acting commander of Atlantis until the members of the IOA finally got their heads out of their collective asses and assigned Mitchell to replace Woolsey--poor Woolsey, who was tragically eaten by mutated wombats, but that is an entirely different story--was in fact, not having a good day. It had been a lousy day, complete with getting a rancid sandwich for lunch, a near miss with an alien invasion, and now he’s been given the task of human light switch.

“Hold this.” Rodney hands him a device that bears an uncanny resemblance to a ball.

“Hey, if you wanted to play dodge ball, all you had to do was ask.” John wonders how well the device would bounce.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, because I enjoy getting things thrown at my head. Very funny.” Rodney fiddles with his computer for a moment. “Okay, that should do it.”

“Nothing’s happening.” Maybe if he shakes it? 

“No, no. That can’t be right.” Rodney glares down at his computer. “The instructions clearly said--”

But John, busy doing something you should never do with alien technology (not even under parental supervision), doesn’t hear Rodney. He holds the device up to his eyelevel, and sort of breathes on it. Well, he doesn’t actually breathe on it so much as continue breathing (which the narrator of this story completely recommends, so long as there’s no alien devices involved). But the point being, John’s saliva, with its oh-so-potent ATA gene, is the magic ingredient. Well, not exactly magic, as Rodney would say, but definitely the _key_ ingredient. (We’ll get to the point soon.) It causes a chain reaction, that culminates with a flash of light that knocks John out and sends him to the infirmary.

***

Mitchell is the first thing John sees when he wakes up. Which, come to think of it, is not that different than what happens on every other day that ends in “y”. (You’re shocked now, I know. But imagine Zelenka’s face when he walked in on the two of them getting--ahem--busy in the jumper bay. Poor Zelenka, and Dr. Keller had told him that he needed to watch his blood pressure too.)

Though John’s not used to sleeping on his stomach, at least not when he’s actually _asleep_. 

“There was an accident,” Mitchell says. 

John senses this, what with the whole waking up in the infirmary thing.

Mitchell raises his eyebrows. John’s thoughts must be showing on his face. His belief is confirmed when Mitchell continues, “There’s no need to be cranky.”

I’ll show you cranky, John thinks as he sits up. Wait a minute--

“Um.” Mitchell looks away, not meeting John’s eyes.

What? John carefully touches his back, hoping to feel nothing but skin and a few old scars. He always hates it when he’s wrong. “I’m a fucking fairy.” John manages not to yell.

Mitchell’s lips are twitching. If he starts laughing, John won’t be responsible for his actions. Mitchell manages to hold it together long enough to ask, “Are you sure you should be telling me that?”

“Can it, Mitchell. I have wings.” Big wings, too, if John’s judging the weight correctly. He gives them an experimental move, and crash--knocks a glass to the floor.

“They’re shiny?” Mitchell offers.

“You’re not helping.” John tries the wings again, and yep, they move. He wonders if he could fly.

“McKay thinks that they’ll go away in a day or two.” Mitchell is laughing now, the bastard. “But if they don’t, well, I hear there’s always a job market for superheroes.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than stand around and mock me?” John unfurls--at least he thinks this is what he’s doing, it’s all new to him--his wings. 

Mitchell thinks about this for a moment. “Not really.” (Which, at this junction, is actually true. When there are no alien invasions or apocalypses to curtail, or when Rodney McKay is not bored and trying a new experiment, then Atlantis is actually a fairly low-key place. Though this isn’t doing Sheppard any good at this moment, is it?)

John kicks Mitchell out of the room at this point. Though--and never repeat this to Mitchell, because John will deny it if you do--Mitchell’s superhero idea may have some merit. Not that John has a superhero complex or anything, but really, reader, what young, American male hasn’t ever dreamed of zipping around a city wearing a cape and tights?

***

John’s resolve not to take his wings for a test flight lasts exactly three hours, twenty-three minutes, and forty-one seconds. (Mitchell timed him; don’t worry. The marines had a bet going, and the scuttlebutt is that Lorne won. Probably due to how well Lorne knows Sheppard now, after the two of them spent a month stranded on a planet that has pterodactyls and a natural aphrodisiac in the atmosphere. But upon being rescued, the two of them vowed never to speak of it again, so we won’t.)

Mitchell joins John on the balcony. “Just because you finally grew a pair--of wings!” Mitchell hastily finishes. “It doesn’t mean you should be reckless.”

Oh, dear reader, who are we kidding? 

John Sheppard, often commended for his bravery and suicidal tendencies, takes a running leap and jumps--No wait! He’s flying!--off the balcony. 

Feeling the wind in his hair, his wings beating against the ocean breeze, well, John’s reminded again of why he first became a pilot. He does a trip around the city, then heads out towards the ocean. (Thankfully. Water’s a lot more forgiving than whatever Atlantis is made out of.)

John’s maiden voyage lasts exactly thirty-two minutes and fifty-four seconds. (Zelenka times it; the scientists have a bet, and Miko wins this one. Probably accounting from the time, she and John-- Never mind. Miko’s scary when she’s angry.)

McKay had been wrong; a day or two had been an overestimate. John will make sure to tell him that, as soon as he finishes coughing up all the salt water he inhales when his wings suddenly dematerialize.

Mitchell has to come get him in a puddle jumper. 

As he’s being hauled in, John’s pretty sure he’ll never hear the end of this one. Maybe he should consider a transfer. John hears that Antarctica is nice this time of year.

***

John finally lets Mitchell drag him to dinner. He’s cold, tired, and hungry, and he’s never been one to resist the allure of a hot meal that comes from questionable ingredients.

They’ve just started eating when Rodney sets his tray down next to them. “You would not believe the day I’ve had,” Rodney sighs.

John ignores Mitchell’s choked laughter beside him to shoot Rodney a death glare. “Don’t start with me, McKay.”


End file.
